


I Been A Long Time Gone

by JoyBurd



Series: Texan Keith [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Dubious Consent, Homesickness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 21:12:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9566555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoyBurd/pseuds/JoyBurd
Summary: Coran unearths some Altean "moonshine." Keith misses home. Shiro gets overwhelmed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Can't stop listening to Long Time Gone by The Dixie Chicks and thinking about Texan Kieth.
> 
> I wanted this to be a PWP but, despite my best intentions, plot snuck in so if you want the porn just scroll down. I know I always do.

There will always be parts of the castle that are unknown and unknowable according to Coran. He'd tried to explain it to Pidge once, how the castle is a mess of self-perpetuating wormholes and hidden corners that aren't officially on the layout map stored in the system. Pidge remains fascinated and frustrated by this, and can often be seen poking at walls or staring at the edges of rooms with intense focus, which always seems to make Hunk visibly nervous and Coran oddly smug.

Every now and again Coran will disappear for days, and just when Allura begins to voice concern, he remerges with something he always describes as "long lost" and "traditional," scavenged from a hidden room or deep dark pit, something that never fails to cheer Allura right up. It doesn't escape anyone's notice that these disappearances tend to happen right around the times when Allura looks the most down in the mouth.

Still, it's been about three days since anyone has seen Coran, but Allura seems cheerier than she's been in awhile. In fact, for at least the past two days, that Keith has been aware of, in between extended conversations about strategy and the hours everyone knows she logs flexing whatever she has to flex to work the teludav, she's been playing a rigorous game of hide-and-go-seek with the mice.

"I'll find you, you little rascals," she mutters into the space underneath one of the chairs on the bridge. It's just Keith, her, and Shiro in the room, and Shiro isn't paying anyone a lick of attention, focused on the main command terminal displaying a highly detailed map of some section of space Keith hasn't seen recently at any of their strategy sessions. In fact, he has no idea what Shiro's up to, but he seems deeply focused on it.

And Keith isn't sure why he's here, watching Allura keep up this game that she is perpetually losing--the mice always find her, but she never finds them due to, Keith assumes, a significant size difference. But he is just the tiniest bit jealous of the fun she seems to be having. Just the tiniest bit.

He glances at Shiro, who is frowning into the command display and paying neither him nor Allura any heed.

Keith sighs at his own display. The castle's map of the known universe is massive, but things aren't labeled as he remembers them. So it had taken awhile for him to first find Earth--or whatever it was in Altean--and then he'd had to find the right angle from which to view the stars mapped around the planet. It had taken him awhile, but now he had it just right, so that spread out in front of him was the sky over Texas on a warm spring night, just before the heat really set in and not so long after the Winter Solstice, some time around 11PM.

He'd thought it would make him feel better. All he sees all day is stars. He's surrounded by them, and looking at them is starting to sting almost. He'd never thought he'd get this view of them. Sure he was going to be a pilot, but that was Earth-based, never past the atmosphere. Shiro was the space guy, always going somewhere Kieth couldn't reach him, far away and unknowable. Even here. Even now.

The lines of Shiro's back are hard, the edges of him glowing blue where the light from the displays touches him. If Keith squints, Shiro almost disappears into the hazy blue light around him and the blackness of space, visible just beyond the windows of the command bridge.

He places a hand, flat, palm down, over the display, and when he drops it the display shimmers with a little sizzling noise and reforms.

Keith had wanted to put the stars back where they were supposed to be, just for a second. He'd wanted the night sky to be a roof again, a comforting sort of cover-up, instead of, from what he was beginning to understand, his home. But the Texas sky on his display just looks small and fragile, and it makes him that much more conscious of the limitless stretch of the universe in front of him, like he's lost in it.

He scoffs and shoves himself up out of his chair.

"I"m going for a walk," Keith says.

Allura doesn't seem to hear him, focused on her task. Shiro grunts in acknowledgement and raises a hand, like he's waving him off.

Keith tries to ignore the pressure in his chest, and waits until the door to the command bridge closes before he lets out a long breath through his nose.

The vast unknowability of the castle, at the very least, lends itself to nice long walks. Kieth opts to head for the Red Lions hangar, or maybe the training room. He doesn't have to be sure just yet.

He's just outside the kitchen, where he can hear the clinking and humming that comes with Hunk trying to make something edible out of whatever he's found on that particular day, when Coran rounds a corner ahead of him. Upon spotting him, Coran exclaims, "Ah! Keith! Perfect!" And before Keith can process that this interaction is happening whether he wants it to or not, Coran has taken three steps and he's right in front of him, eyebrows set to maximum waggling.

"Got a present for ya," Coran says, his mustache twitching.

Keith crosses his arms. "Okay," he says shortly.

Coran pinches the edge of his mustache and Keith can feel him prepping for a speech.

"I'm sure you've noticed I've been absent for the past few days," Coran says. When Keith gives no indication that he's noticed any such thing, Coran plows on, ever the optimist. "Well, I've been searching around the edges of the hangers where we keep the Lions, and I'm afraid Blue has been holding out on us."

"Lance is hiding something?" Keith asks, skeptical.

"No, no, nothing like that. Underneath the Blue Lion's hangar is just where I found this." Coran produces, from one hand held behind his back, a clear glass bottle. It's so delicate and crystalline it catches the light and spits it into hundreds of colors, and Keith thinks it's empty until he realizes the colors are swimming, just a little distorted by the liquid in the bottle.

Coran hands it to Keith, and he's suddenly not sure how to hold it. It's strangely beautiful, and he's almost afraid gripping it too tight or in the wrong place will shatter it.

"That is pure Altean-" and then he says a word Keith immediately forgets, because it's one of those long ones with lots of curling consonants.

Keith stares at him blankly, holding the bottle with both hands.

"Aged for ten thousand years," Coran says, still looking for a reaction from Keith. He taps the bottle lightly and it pings a single, sweet note that echoes down the hall. "It's potent stuff to begin with, but by now? It's practically deadly."

"Potent? Coran is this-" Keith lifts up the bottle, and the thing is almost full so it barely sloshes, just one single air bubble interrupting the fascinating refraction of light. "Is this Altean moonshine?"

"I don't think it has anything to do with any moons," Coran is saying, but Keith's already got the top off the bottle. He gets down two swigs before Coran yanks the bottle away. "Careful! I said that's powerful stuff."

Keith wipes his mouth on his sleeve and tries to suppress the full body shudder at the taste of the liquor. He knows what moonshine tastes like--gasoline, really, if you do it right-- and this is worse. But he's not going to let Coran know that.

"Why'd you give it to me then?" Keith says, once he's composed himself enough that he feels relatively certain Coran won't note the rawness of his voice.

Coran's twirling his mustache again and Kieth is reminded suddenly of a villain from some kind of old TV show.

"I thought you might like to play a traditional Altean game."

-

The game, it turns out, is a simple one, but it's played with cups so they take a detour to the kitchen and end up roping Hunk into their game. The point is to stack the cups in a certain pattern, as fast as possible, without knocking them over or messing up. And every time you mess up, you take a drink. Easy.

Or at least it should have been, but by the time Keith and Hunk have the pattern down, they've had too much to keep from knocking the cups over. And Coran is sent into hysterical guffaws every time it happens.

Coran seems blissfully unaffected for the majority of their game, much to Hunk and Keith's dismay. They end up knocking over a couple of Coran's cups for him, just to make him drink. But Coran demands they take the shot instead, since they sabotaged him after all.

"That's fair," Keith says, and he's not sure but he thinks he might be slurring. He tries to meet Coran's eyes but he can't keep his head still. He thinks he sees a concerned look there, but he can't be certain.

"I think I may have overestimated human tolerance in comparison to Altean," Coran says slowly.

"You're an overestimate," Hunk says, and then he hiccups and burps, in very quick succession, which wouldn't normally be funny except Keith is _drunk_ and he's laughing, his stomach cramping with it.

"Aw man what's this?" That's Lance's voice, Keith is sure, but he can't see him anywhere. "Are you guys having fun without me?"

"Oh, Lance!" Coran says. "I'm so glad you're here. I may need your help."

Keith starts losing track of their conversation around that point. And then he's in the hall and there's a strong arm around his waist, hauling him, must be, because he isn't moving his legs himself.

"Shiro," Keith says, not asking but stating.

"Almost there, Keith," and that's not Shiro's voice but Keith can't think what to do about it. And then he's in his bed, and he's annoyed because the lights are off and he can't see anything. And someone is _here_.

"Keith." _That's_ Shiro's voice. He swims into focus to Keith's left, and he realizes with a shock that gravity isn't where it should be when he tries to lift his arm and reach for Shiro. His arm feels too heavy, and he realizes he isn't vertical but horizontal.

It's a little bit easier to get his hands on Shiro once he figures that out, though his arms still feel like they've gained twenty pounds each, but it's made difficult again by Shiro batting him away and shoving something in his face.

"Drink this," Shiro says. And Keith does because he can feel the alcohol in his system fading already and all he can think is _drink_.

When the liquid hits his mouth he sputters at the taste.

"S'not what I want," Keith says, pushing away what's clearly water.

"You're going to wish you'd had it later," Shiro says, but he takes the water away.

And Keith is still groping at Shiro because he _knows_ what he wants right now, doesn't need Shiro, of all people, to tell him that.

Maybe he's stronger than he thinks he is or maybe Shiro is caught off guard but Keith gets his mouth hooked onto Shiro's and he keeps pulling. And Shiro keeps murmuring, "Keith," when he can get his mouth free, but he sounds so _stern_ and that's not how Keith wants to hear Shiro say his name so he keeps kissing him, thinking if he can keep Shiro's mouth occupied he won't have to hear him say his name in such an admonishing way.

But Shiro's hands press into his shoulders and Keith is pushed back, down into the blankets on his bed. And he can feel Shiro, panting against his lips, wet with spit so that the pants feel like a physical touch.

"Keith stop," Shiro says.

"I did," Keith says, and he puts his hands up by his sides where Shiro can see them, even though Shiro is still pressing him back into the bed by his shoulders. And now that he has a second, Keith can feel Shiro's thighs, one pressed between his in a _very_ good way.

Shiro doesn't move like Keith expects him to. Instead, Shiro shifts forward, and the pressure on Keith's cock is blinding sweet. He has to bite his lip to remind himself to be quiet, but he thinks a sound slips out anyway because Shiro's eyes shut like he's in pain.

"I don't want you to do something you'll regret," Shiro says. But he's still pressing into Keith in all the right ways and Keith just _wants_.

"I don't have regrets," Keith says. "You know that."

Shiro's eyes open and meet his and Keith feels like he's been slapped because Shiro looks like he's being set on fire. He looks like he's begging but he isn't saying anything and Keith isn't sure what to do.

And then Shiro just groans and the full length of his body presses into Keith and Keith feels warm and safe and _heated_ in a way that's all too familiar. He feels it all the time around Shiro, during practice and when Keith had saved him from the military on his return to Earth. Seeing Shiro in his own clothes again, knowing he'd kept them for so long for a good reason. He even felt it this morning, he realizes, staring at Shiro's back.

Shiro's mouth presses into his and he's not sure which of them is making so much sound, maybe him, maybe _both_ , but Shiro's tongue is against his and he wants it there forever. So he pulls and sucks and Shiro's hands on his shoulders move up his arms to his hands, so that Shiro's fingers link with his and pull his arms high above his head. He can't move his upper body so he moves his hips, and he realizes it was him making noises because the mouthy groans keep happening even when Shiro's breath skips out of his chest and into Keith's mouth.

"Keep going," Shiro says, grinding down in response. And Keith isn't sure what he means because Keith hasn't stopped kissing him or thrusting his hips into Shiro's, not until Shiro leans back so that he's sitting up straddling Keith, and he's yanking off the black shirt he wears under his Paladin armor. "Keep making those sounds. You're so fucking hot, Keith."

"Yeah," Keith says, and his hands are free now so he puts them on Shiro's hips, pulling him down to increase the friction on his cock. "Yeah, please, Shiro," Keith says.

Shiro doesn't say anything, but a cold hand creeps under Keith's shirt, and he feels warm fingers inside the hem of his pants. Shiro doesn't even undo the clasp before he takes Keith's cock in his hand, and the angle is weird and he's not pulling the whole length but it's enough, in fact it's a _lot_ and Keith knows his mouth is staying open and he's being loud but he can't stop, can't control the rhythm of his hips pushing into Shiro's hand, or the arching of his back when Shiro's cold fingers rake over his chest.

"When you're sober," Shiro says, still fisting his cock, "I'm gonna fuck you so good. Or you can fuck me. I don't care."

Keith curses, and he begs, "Please, Shiro, come on. Right now. Do it now."

Keith feels Shiro shake above him and it takes him a second to realize he's laughing.

"No way," Shiro says. He looks up at Keith and his hand doesn't stop moving on Keith's length while he talks. "I shouldn't even be doing this. If you're still okay with it when you aren't drunk, and once that bitch of a hangover has passed, we'll do anything you want. But right now you're going to come with just my hand. Do you understand, Keith?"

Keith keens, and he can't see Shiro anymore. He realizes it's because he's closed his eyes and his head has fallen back onto the bed, lost in the pulling of Shiro's hand. He lifts his head back up, not wanting to miss the way Shiro is looking at him just then, eyes almost obscured by the tangle of silver hair falling down over his forehead.

Shiro's hand stops for just a second and Keith almost loses his mind. He thrashes up against Shiro, almost bucking him off and groaning.

"Tell me you understand," Shiro says.

"I do! I understand," Keith sobs, hips still grinding up against Shiro's immobile hand.

Shiro has his other hand fisted in Keith's shirt, and he yanks on it, gently. "Tell me you're not going to get drunk again."

"I won't! God, I swear. Shiro, please."

Shiro doesn't keep pulling on him though. Instead his thumb swipes up under the tip of Keith's cock and Keith cries out at the feeling of him, rubbing hard into his slit.

"Tell me you're going to come on my hand," Shiro says.

"I'm-I'm gonna-" And the pressure is all too much, the way Shiro is looking at him and making demands of him is too much, and Keith is coming, hips jerking hard, his eyes rolling.

Keith opens his eyes just in time to see Shiro pull his hand out of his pants. He's got Keith's release dripping between his fingers, and Shiro reaches up to his own face, putting his pinkie finger in his mouth and sucking, letting the rest smear over his cheekbone.

"Ah, God," Keith says, hips giving one last abortive jerk.

Now that the high of orgasm is petering off, Keith can feel how distant the alcoholic buzz is now, replaced instead by a persistent pounding in his head that's slight for now, but he knows will get much worse.

"Ungh, Shiro," Keith says, throwing his arms over his face. "That's really hot, but my head..."

Shiro shushes him, and to his horror, and the discomfort of his suddenly roiling stomach, Shiro is moving him. He's just about to protest when the movement stops. He can feel arms around his chest, and warmth against the top of his head. When he opens his eyes, he can see the rise and fall of Shiro's chest, feel the slight brush of his skin when Shiro inhales fully and brushes Keith's cheek.

Their legs are tangled and Keith is too exhausted or drunk or hungover--he can't even tell which at this point--to figure out which are his legs and which are Shiro's. But he supposes it doesn't matter.

"If you need to puke, roll over," Shiro says. "Please don't puke on me."

Keith presses his face into Shiro's chest, trying to stave off the headache.

"I can't puke on you," Keith says, voice a little muted since his mouth is pressed up against Shiro. "You'll never fuck me later if I puke on you."

"I don't know," Shiro says, pulling him just a little closer, holding him tight enough that he isn't sure he could turn over if he wanted to. "Worse things have happened."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at thunderybird.tumblr.com.
> 
> Corrections always welcome! Had a bit of a tense problem with this one. Meant to be present tense so if you see otherwise please give me a shout.


End file.
